


Bad Blood

by ascoolsuchasi



Series: Bad Things [2]
Category: Shame (2011), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1stclass_kink, F/M, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascoolsuchasi/pseuds/ascoolsuchasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Anticipationwantneedlust. It's not something that he can control</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for somewhat graphic violence and wanking in public places.

It’s six months later that he sees Charles again and doesn’t recognize him. But Charles recognizes him, and really, Erik should have guessed; he should have known it was him when the floppy haired kid leans over to a tall, bulking man, whispering and points towards him. And especially when this man comes up to him and pushes him back against a wall, hard.

“The fuck is wrong with you, bub?”

Erik stares up at him with eyes that should be filled with panic and _fuckshitwhatdididohowdoIgetout_ are instead filled with _icoulddothatikindofreallyfuckingwanttodothat._

“What?” He cocks his head to the side.

“You think it’s fucking okay to do shit like that?”

Erik licks his lips and winces slightly as he watches the man’s hand find their way to his shoulder, squeezing painfully.

“I think- you have the wrong person. I didn’t-”

“Charles!” The man interrupts. His head tilting in a way that says come here. “This the guy, right?”

And the kid nods. “Yeah, that’s him, Logan.”

Erik looks between the two, trying to reconcile the names and the faces. Thinking _where have I heard those names before and that face, that voice, those lips-where?_

“You think it’s fucking okay to do shit like that?”

Erik raises his hands up, fingers spread, trying to show that _no, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, now would you kindly get your fucking hands off me._

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Pray tell what is it that I have done wrong?”

And maybe he said it on just the wrong side of cocky because Logan’s fists are tightening around his shoulders and he’s growling; fucking growling.

“You fuckhole, he didn’t talk to me for weeks after what you did. You fucking-fuck.”

And then it dawns on him. _Oh. That uni boy._ But he was just an inconsequential fuck. Something to do on his way home, just a way to get off. How the fuck did it come back to bite him in the arse?

Then there’s something painfully in his gut, and it feels sort of like a fist, sort of like a knee. And he gasps out and hunches over.

Erik struggles in Logan’s grasp. “Fuck! Let go of me!”

“Fuck that-” Logan smashes a fist into Erik’s face. “I’m never letting you go.”

Erik pushes his shoulder hard into Logan, which just makes him grunt and pull Erik off the wall just to knee him again. Erik gasps out when at the contact and his knees give out.

“Logan! Logan stop! Fucking stop!” Charles is frantic, hands trying to pry Logan off of Erik. Hands at his waist and shoulder and pulling. “Just- Logan stop! You’re going to-”

“Fuck this.” Logan jumps off of Erik and pushes past Charles. “Charles, call me when you’ve fucking-” Logan looks back to Charles. “When you decide that stopping me was a big fucking mistake.”

Charles runs to kneel down beside Erik. “Fuck. Shite. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that Logan would-that he’d do so...much.” He runs a hand through his hair then touches Erik’s cheek lightly. “Fuck. I’m so, so sorry. Bloody fuck. Can I- do you need-”

“St-op.” Erik turns his slightly to look at Charles and squints. “I- I don’t need anything. Your- fuck. Just. Go.” He tries to waves Charles off.

Slowly, Charles stands up. He pulls out a scrap of paper and scribbles something on it. He hands it down to Erik.

“Just- its my mobile’s number. Call me? If, you know you want to-I don’t. Just call me?”

Erik sits up a little, balancing on an elbow. He wipes at his mouth with one hand and stares at the slip.

“Please, Erik, just take it. Please.”

Erik nods and takes the paper. he half growls half whispers “Now go.” And motions him off again.

“Yeah. Umm, again. Sorry. I just-didn’t think-”

 _“Charles.”_

“Right. Yes. Umm, bye then.” Charles starts to turn around, the stops. “Are you sure?”

Erik glares at him, or at least as much of a he can manage in the state he’s in.

“Right. Okay.” Charles stumbles off muttering to himself and looking back to Erik every so often.

When Charles is out of sight, Erik sighs and grips tighter at the scrap of paper. He lets his head fall back and he closes his eyes. He counts to ten and sits up fully. He winces at the pain that strikes through his gut. He takes a deep breath and braces himself to stand up.

He blinks his eyes open and heads towards the closest bathroom, pocketing the slip of paper.

Inside, Erik takes a long look into the mirror and takes in the all the bruises and cuts and pain. He licks at his lips and feels a string of something go through him so sharp when he thinks back at the look in Charles eyes and the feel of Logan's fist, he shudders. He looks down. And oh. He's hard. Fuck.

He huffs out a laugh that really isn't anything but air and hollowness. He backs up from the sink and shuffles into one of the open stalls. After he shuts the lock, he settles himself on the lid to the toilet and unzips his jeans. He sits up just enough to pull them down mid-thigh and to feel the burn and pain grow in his mid-section.

He bites at one of his hands, as the other finds its' way under the waistband of his boxers. He bites down harder on his fist when he grips around his cock and tugs, thumb running across the head. Erik groans as he thinks back to Logan and all that rage and protectiveness, again. He twists his hand around his length and his grip tightening slightly.

After two, three, four more strokes, he bites down on his hand and draws blood as he comes. He lets out a long and shuddery sigh and his hands fall limply at his sides. He sits there for a few more minutes in his sort of shameful after glow before he fixes himself back together and steps out of the stall. He washes his hands and stares at his flushed reflection. He blinks several times before washing his face of sweat and caked on blood.

He walks out of the bathroom slowly, hands in his pockets; fingers running over the sole scrap of paper in them.


End file.
